Chapter 11

“Easy, old boy!” Morgan yelped, narrowly ducking Duncan’s hard right hook. “Lay it down, old boy, you’ve won! Get ahold of yourself!” he called hysterically as he backed away from him.

Duncan felt two sets of arms wrap around his chest as he stalked toward Morgan, and was abruptly knocked off his feet and onto his back.

“Get out of your head, mate,” Ezra warned, his voice back to its usual cold timbre as he cocked his fist back threateningly. “Or I’ll knock you out for your own good.”

“Listen to him, Duncan,” Ambrose pleaded, struggling to keep Duncan’s legs pinned down.

Full of adrenaline, Duncan reared away from their holds, successfully throwing off Ambrose and almost shaking Ezra. As promised, Ezra retaliated with a warning punch to his right temple, forcing him to see stars but not knocking him out.

“We will knock you out with chloroform, old boy, if you don’t settle down,” Morgan warned, already motioning to the club’s physician.

Through his rage and post-traumatic stress, Duncan began to mentally fight his way back to rationality, and he vaguely began to recognize his friends holding him down. He had made a big mistake—he’d gotten too close. Said too much to Alice about his feelings. It was no good. None of it.

He let out a raw groan as he lifted his hands in the air and rose to his knees, letting his friends know he was in control again.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, his muscular chest sweating and heaving as he drew in ragged breaths. “I lost track of where I was for a moment.”

“Bloody right you did,” Morgan scoffed, holding a blood-soaked towel to his mouth. “You almost knocked my tooth off.”

That was not the only damage Duncan did to his friend either, that much was clear. In addition to his bloodied mouth, Morgan was sporting a deep bruise on his right pectoral muscle and his left bicep. Since they were all required to go to the ball in two days, they’d all agreed to not hit the face—a rule which Duncan was surprised he’d remembered in his red haze.

“I liked you better when you were scrawny,” Morgan stated bitterly, then used his teeth to start unwrapping his hands.

“No, you don’t,” Ezra countered with an eye roll. “That would mean we would be looking into the fire again.”

“And worrying if he was drinking himself to death again,” Ambrose tossed in, giving Duncan an older-brother-type glare.

Duncan rolled his eyes. “Shut it, would you? I said I was sorry,” he grumbled, reaching for his pitcher of watered-down ale.

“Four hours ago, you were right as rain,” Ezra pointed out, helping himself to his own ale as a pretty blonde barmaid sat on his lap and put a hand on his bare chest. “What the hell happened?”

Alice happened.

“Nothing,” Duncan said instead, averting his eyes from the woman.

Ezra, as usual, paid her no mind save for a hand on her breasts or waist. But that was part of his trick. Somehow, the more he ignored women, the more they wanted to be around him. It was something that always confused Duncan, but with Ezra’s handsome features, cool self-confidence and, of course, money, he wasn’t a man who needed to try hard.

“Lying to yourself is only going to hurt you and Alice in the end,” Ezra said with a careless shrug before finally turning his attention to the woman in his lap. “Good evening, darling,” he purred, his eyes never leaving her large, tightly corseted breasts. “Care to take me upstairs now?”

“With pleasure, Your Grace,” the barmaid said, pulling Ezra out of his chair by the hand.

“Sort yourself out, old boy,” Ezra warned Duncan a final time before the woman led him away.

“Cocky bastard,” Duncan muttered under his breath as his friend disappeared behind a set of red velvet curtains.

“He is not,” Ambrose sighed wearily, taking a seat next to him. “He’s just looking out for you. You went down a bad road for a long time, and you only recently came back from it. None of us want to see you go back there again.”

Duncan knew his friend spoke the truth, but it didn’t make him any less annoyed.

“I am bringing Helena to the ball on Saturday,” Ambrose added, changing the subject. “I have told her about Alice, and she is most excited to meet her. I trust that while I help you keep an eye on your wife, you shall help me keep an eye on my sister?”

“Of course,” Duncan said, immediately snapping out of his funk at the mention of Helena.

She was a sweet young woman whom they all loved and protected as if she were their baby sister. He had been meaning to introduce her to Alice for a while, but life had just been too complicated for such a luxury.

“You know I would be happy to. Has anyone been calling on her?”

Ambrose sneered and rolled his eyes. “Attempting to? Yes. Succeeding? No. She’s only a debutante still, but there are a few young bucks who come sniffing around her when we are out on promenades and such. It’s become increasingly annoying. Hence the need for your help on Saturday. I don’t want her disappearing anywhere and ending up like?—”

He paused as Duncan threw him a weary look.

“Go on, say it,” Duncan said calmly, beginning to unwrap his hands.

He’d gone several rounds already, and it was clear no one else was willing to get into the ring with him that night.

“Look, I know she didn’t mean to trap you,” Ambrose stammered out. “And I know you didn’t intend to be walked in on while having a little fun, but come now, you already admitted that you wouldn’t want that to happen to your little sister if you had one.”

Duncan felt a pang of loneliness shoot through him as Ambrose inadvertently pointed out his lonely status, and he turned away from his friend as he put his shirt back on.

“I get it,” he grunted. “And like I already said, done. You know I will always look out for Helena as if she were my own sister.”

Ambrose nodded, knowing this to be true. Indeed, Helena’s suitors did not have one big brother to contend with, but four.

“You need to go home,” Ambrose said next, nodding toward the several members of the club’s cleaning staff waiting silently for them to leave.

It was nearly four in the morning, and the rest of the club had emptied out well over an hour ago. It was only with the lavish fistfuls of money Morgan and Ezra threw at the owner on top of their monthly membership that they were allowed such liberties. Still, there was a time for every man to take his leave. Duncan just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I think I’ll get a room upstairs,” Duncan murmured, leaving a few coins on the table for the inconvenience.

“Oh, hell, don’t do that,” Ambrose scoffed in irritation.

He grabbed the left side of Duncan’s open shirt and dragged him outside before he could veer toward the lobby.

“Go home, Duncan,” he ordered again in his usual older-brother tone. “To Alice. Your wife? The one who made this little visit go so well? She deserves to know that you are safe in bed and not dead somewhere in the streets, at the very least.”

The street lamps were running low on oil, their glow barely casting a visible yellow light through the thick early morning fog. Duncan knew the way home. He knew his friend was right. But he couldn’t get his feet to move in the right direction.

“She wants things I can’t give her,” he confessed, resting his back against the brick wall of the club.

Ambrose stopped walking away from him, his shoulders slumping as he drew in a ragged breath. Duncan was younger than him only by a scant year, but that didn’t stop Ambrose from taking him in like a baby brother and raising him the best he could. His father, the former Duke of Larsen, had been a cold, stern man who always seemed disappointed in Duncan.

It was one of the reasons Duncan had become so obsessive. First with pleasing his father, then avenging his father, then boxing, and now he was floating, refusing to allow himself to get attached to a person, the passion he wanted the most, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You’re the only one that thinks that, mate,” Ambrose replied, turning back to him. “But you like her, or at least lust after her. And from what Ezra told me about the dinner, it is clear that she wants to please you. So, why are you not allowing yourself to give in?”

“The woman is reckless,” Duncan said defensively, stepping closer to him. “She is constantly putting herself in danger. I cannot allow myself to have feelings for someone I will lose.”

“The ladder incident?” Ambrose asked, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not just that,” Duncan replied quickly. “She’s… independent. Reckless. She gets cuts. She rides her horse bareback, I’m told, and she tries to sneak away from her guard and handmaid on her walks. She’s doomed.”

Ambrose looked at Duncan as if he were insane, and Duncan pondered if his friend had a point.

“Doomed how?” Ambrose asked, his expression still the same.

Duncan’s gaze flicked to the pebbled street, feeling as meek as the orphan boy he once was, and he hated it. “Because she will not listen to me, and if I cannot keep her safe, she will die.”

“Duncan, no,” Ambrose insisted, his irritation gone as he put a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I am cursed. I killed my mother, and I failed to please or save my father. What if I do something to her? What if we have a child and I hurt it?” Duncan asked, the dreaded questions haunting his head finally spilling from his mouth.

“Duncan, you cannot think of these things,” Ambrose protested. Duncan looked up at him.“It is a sad reality that women die in childbirth at times, to be sure, but it is no one’s fault. You got hurt trying to save your father, who was already trapped. You saw it. You remember it. You did not kill him. You will not hurt Alice, and you will not hurt your baby if you should have one. You have had a bad row, yes, but the very person who can change all of that is right inside your house, and you won’t even go to her!”

“She’s so much smaller than me,” Duncan mumbled, shaking his head. “What if I am the one who hurts her?”

Ambrose groaned in frustration. “What if I accidentally let go of Helena’s hand as I’m helping her down the stairs and she breaks her neck?” he fired back. “We cannot stop horrible things from happening to them, mate. We can only be by their side as often as possible so that when the horrible things happen, they don’t have to go through them alone.”

Duncan felt his fear begin to ebb away, the weight of his friend’s sage advice forcing the emotion back into its cage. With effort, he slid the mental deadbolt back into place, and a deep breath whistled out of his chest as he came back to himself. It was only then he felt the pain, and he winced and growled as he slowly unfurled his aching body from its shrunken position, rising to his full height and cracking his neck as he finally let the tension go.

“I’ve been a bit of a twat, haven’t I?” he asked, throwing a sideways glance at his friend.

Ambrose let out a laugh of relief and clapped him on the back hard. “There’s my lad! A bit, yeah, but it’s good to see you come out of it,” he confessed, then gave him a sarcastic smile.

“Look,” he continued, “Morgan would never let me live it down if he heard me agreeing with him, but his whole outlook on life is kind of right. Instead of letting the past be a reason to hide, force it to be a reason to live your life well. We can’t avoid the ferryman, but we can have as few regrets as possible when we meet him.”

“Duncan?” Alice whispered, stirring slowly from her sleep.

She was not sure what soft sound had alerted her that she was not alone, but as she worked at opening her eyes, she made out the familiar form of her husband.

“Alice.” His deep, rumbling voice rang in the darkness, sending a shiver down her spine.

She sat up, turning to her bedside table briefly to light the candle. The soft yellow glow illuminated Duncan’s form, making her gasp. He had taken off his shirt and trousers, and was the barest she’d ever seen him. His body was lined with taut muscle from head to toe, and the bulge beneath his white linen drawers was both apparent and enticing.

However, that was not what caught most of her attention. It was, instead, the deep purple bruises all over his torso, two of which had split open from the force of the hit and had blood oozing from them.

Fear and worry overtook Alice’s excitement and desire, and she scrambled out of bed to go to him.

“What happened to you?” she whispered distraughtly, gripping his wrist and pulling him toward her washstand.

To her surprise, a laugh tumbled out of his lips. “This? It is nothing. I have received much worse during a row with the mates.”

She shook her head as she poured fresh water into the basin and soaked a cloth. Duncan made no move to stop her as she brought it up to the first wound—right above his right nipple, where the trail of smaller scars stopped—and they stood in silence as she tended to the torn flesh. Heat radiated off his skin, seeping through the cool cloth and into her hand, and every now and then she felt a twitch beneath her palm—as if it were involuntary.

“Did you… did you get a chance to think?”

She had been torn between wanting to know what happened and reveling in the first moment that he had visited her at night, but her curiosity got the better of her.

His entire body tensed up for a moment, and she dragged her eyes up to his. It was only then that she realized he had been looking at her the entire time, studying her intently. She swallowed hard as she saw a twisted combination of lust, distrust, and eagerness flicker in his eyes before they settled into unease.

“I do not want to talk,” he told her, placing a hand over hers.

She stopped washing him immediately and said nothing as he pulled her hand away, took the cloth out of her palm, and inspected the nearly healed wound in her palm. His eyes searched the cut closely, inspecting it for any issues, and Alice was suddenly relieved that the last of the scab had fallen off that morning, leaving nothing but a small, jagged white line. When he was finished with his perusal, he brought his eyes back to hers and drew her hand to his mouth.

Arousal coursed through Alice as he placed the most gentle of kisses on the scar. It was not at all a sensual move, but he might as well have professed his undying love by the small gesture. Alice fought for breath as her mind raced, completely unsure of what to do next.

“I am not going to make love to you tonight.”

The surprising words came out gentle but firm, leaving no doubt that they were law. His voice was not at all harsh, but embarrassment and disappointment ate away at Alice’s desire all the same. As tears burned in her eyes, she tried to pull her hand away. Duncan’s grip immediately tightened, and with his other hand, he captured her waist.

“Wait,” he commanded.

He seemed out of bounds with what he was doing. It seemed strange, watching him struggle like this, as he always seemed so confident and self-assured.

Alice waited, but when his words did not come, she tried to pull away again.

“Please.” His voice came out gravelly. Pained.

“What is it, Duncan?” she implored, feeling desperate. “Tell me and let me help you!”

Duncan pulled her to his chest then, one arm wrapped around her waist and his hand cupping the back of her neck. The force of his pull had her cheek pressed tight against his bruised chest, and she felt his hand slide from the nape of her neck up into her hair. His fingertips massaged her scalp, making her body relax despite the confusion.

Then, as he pulled her into bed with him, realization dawned on her. Her husband was not asking for what he wanted because he did not know. Whatever silent battle he was constantly fighting had left him at odds with his feelings, and he was struggling. Greatly.

She made no move to fight him as he lay down and then pulled her down onto his chest, but she began to squirm as she tried to find a spot of unbruised flesh to lie on. She rose, but Duncan’s arms immediately tightened around her, as if fearing she were about to leave.

“Shhh,” she soothed softly, giving him a calming look.

He loosened his hold on her then, but he gave her a wary look.

“Your bruises… I am heavy… I do not want to hurt you,” she explained, trailing a gentle hand over his bruises.

Even now, through the tension and heaviness of the moment, Alice felt a hum of desire in her veins as she touched his bare flesh. This time, though, she buried it deep.

Duncan said nothing, his eyes burning into hers with the same intensity as before. Had he not heard her? Or did he not care? Her eyes traveled slowly from his gaze and rested on his mask. The moment she moved her hand, his eyes darted to it and watched it suspiciously as it crept forward.

Alice paused briefly when she felt him tense up again, but then she continued to move her hand upward, over his collarbone, up his throat, until her fingertips touched the bottom of his mask. Duncan stilled completely beneath her this time, holding his breath as he waited to see what she was going to do next. The urge to lift the thing away and lay it aside was great. Could that be what plagued him so?

She continued to look at the mask for a moment, contemplating what to do. Then, as the answer came to her, she lowered herself with great care and brushed a small kiss against the part of his mask covering his right temple. A groan escaped Duncan’s lips, and then with a gentle tug, he pulled her back down to his chest.

This time, Alice made no move to spare him from her weight and lay fully on him. His grip on her relaxed, as did his entire body, as he seemed to quickly fall asleep.

Alice listened intently to his heartbeat, relieved by the way it finally went from fast and jagged to calm and steady. Blanketed by his arms and lulled by the relaxed rhythm of his heartbeat, she soon found herself drifting off to sleep better than she ever had in her life.